


Little Talks

by LeTempest



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, I just need to get all the Lydia/Isaac parallels off my chest okay?, Mental Breakdown, Past Abuse, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-01
Updated: 2013-07-01
Packaged: 2017-12-16 19:29:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/865739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeTempest/pseuds/LeTempest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They weren’t friends. They didn’t even like each other, but in this, she trusted him. Because she knew he knew what it was like, to have a raw, open wound just beneath your skin, one you were trying to hide, guard, protect. He wouldn’t give away her secret. And she wouldn’t give away his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Talks

**Author's Note:**

> prompt fic from my tumblr(sitdowngreenburg.tumblr.com)
> 
> Anon asked for Lydia/Isaac little talks
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own teen wolf and this was just for funnies

Lydia loved Danny. He was a good friend to her, even though they no longer shared a common denominator. He’d protected her when this had all started, stood  up for her when other’s talked about her new crazy streak behind her back, called Jackson on his callous behavior towards her. Danny good guy, in his own way. So when Stiles clued her in on the twins little secret, she felt she needed to tell him about the weirdness.

            She’d gotten had hardly gotten the word werewolf out of her mouth before he had his hands on her shoulder, steering her towards the couch, wearing that serious face he always got when he was legitimately concerned.

            “Lydia, I know you have been having a hard time lately, but I also know you refuse to see anyone about it. So I need you to be real with me for a second. What are you taking?”

            Lydia had rolled her eyes, and waved him off. She should have known she would need concrete evidence. She was a scientist after all and she knew she would need to provide evidence to support the facts. So that’s what she would do. Now if she could only find a wolf willing to help her.

            Stiles was willing to bend over backwards for her, but sadly, he wasn’t a wolf himself. Scott was the next best option but there was a strange niggling feeling in her stomach at the thought of asking him. He was a decent guy but her allegiances still lay with Allison, and she didn’t really feel right asking the other boy for help. Besides that, he had his mother to worry about, and if Danny told Ethan what he knew, that could mean trouble for Melissa Mccall. Derek Hale was a posiblity, but given she had no idea how to get in contact with him( and the fact that she found him to be a raging asshole), he was moved to the bottom of the list. She wrote Boyd’s name in her note book next but immediately scratched it out. Stiles had told her he’d stepped out of the circle since Erica had died. He wasn’t likely to want to help Lydia, and even if he would, she didn’t feel it was okay to ask it of him. She knew how much her own broken heart had throbbed at first, and all that separated her and Jackson was an ocean. She couldn’t imagine how much Boyd must ache right now.

            That left one name on the page that was both plausible, accessible, and relatively guilt free. Isaac. He’d had a crush on her their freshman year, and sometimes she would see his gaze flicker towards her across the room. She smiled triumphantly. Yep, Isaac would do just fine.

            Looking at him across the parking lot she had to admit, his gangly form had filled out a bit since freshman year and of course the change had done him a lot of good. He still slouched but not so deeply as before, and he was less afraid to meet people’s gaze. There was slight, sick, but utterly satisfaction curling in her Lydia didn’t consider herself a violent person but she was very sure Coach Lahey had gotten exactly what he deserved.

            She crossed the parking lot with a flip of her hair, letting her hips carry her, her carefully applied smile falling right into place. It was comforting, this mask, it was familiar. Sometimes it was nice, to his herself behind it again, to act like their was nothing behind her flawless face.

            “Isaac,” she said, sliding up next him, where he leaned against Allison’s car.

            He raised a curious brow at her, cautious as much as confused.

            “Lydia,” He replied, warily.

            “I have a favor to ask,” she said, looking up at him through her eye lashes. It was a careful calculated gaze made to look coy and unassuming. It almost always got her her way, with teen age boys at least.

            So she was a bit put off when Isaac’s face went from wary to stone cold in a heart beat. His shoulders pulled back, slim arms crossed over an equally slim chest, his slate blue eyes bearing down on her with thinly veiled contempt.

            “What makes you think I would do you any kind of favors,” he asked, his voice quiet and cold as a sliver of glass.

            She stepped back a little bit without meaning to, and that made her angry, as much with him as with herself. She caught her movement in a split second, turning into casual shifting of her wait. She forced her posture to seem careless, like his cool demeanor didn’t effect her, didn’t frighten her just a hint, didn’t remind her just a little to much of how Jackson had been before the end.

            If Lahey didn’t want to place nice, then neither would she. She wielded her beauty like finely honed weapon but she was smart and there was steel under her skin.

“Well given that you _did_ try to murder, several times might I add, me a few months ago, repeatedly put my friends in danger, etc. I think you at least owe me a little favor.”

Isaac made a sound at that, a soft noise in the back of his throat. At first she, thought it was a laugh, until she saw his lips pulling back from his teeth. It wasn’t a laugh, but a growl. Lydia took a real step back from him this time, not bothering to hide her fear. Angry pale eyed werewolves just hit too close to home.

But Isaac was already reaching for her, catching her wrist and dragging her back, pulling her close. Lydia froze, her whole body taunt, but her leaden body didn’t stop the way he jerked her back, like a rag doll, like a child. He leaned in, so close she could feel his breath on her cheek when she turned her face away.

“I _owe you?_ For what Lydia? For that time you stood at Jackson’s window and watched my dad slam my face into the brick? Or all the times you heard shouting, saw me walking out with a busted lip or a black eye, and you couldn’t get your key in the lock fast enough? For all the times after the game, when him shake me by the scruff, while you sat in the bleachers and pretended you didn’t see? For all the times you invited my team mates over but you avoided even looking me in the eyes? For all the shit you say, and all the shit you heard, that you never, not once, said anything about?”

“I-“ she stammered, wanting to say something even though she had nothing to say. Because she knew it was true. That she had known Isaac was being abused and she had never said anything. She’d thought about it. But Jackson had assured him every time that it wasn’t their problem and she’d agreed with him. Because, even though she knew it was wrong, Lydia had always believed that if you covered your pain, if you pretended it wasn’t there, then things were easier. She’d believed that empathy made you weak, a chink in your armor that people could use against you. That had been before the bite, before Peter, and wolfs bane and werewolves. Before the madness. And after that, well, there had been little enough room in Lydia for her own problems, let alone someone else’s.

“So I want you to get one thing very clear, _Lydia,”_ he snarled between his teeth, “I don’t owe you shit.”

He shoved he away from him then, hard enough that she stumbled in her heels, caught herself on the side of Stiles jeep. He heart thundered in her breast and when he straightened up, she flinched, and he paused for a half second. Then he slung his bag over his shoulder, and stalked away, cold fury still clear on his face.

She heard Allison call to him, heard him respond something about walking home. Lydia forced herself to straighten again, forced her soldier’s face back on, yanking down her sleeve over the red mark.

“What was that all about,” Allison asked with a raised brow, and the easy confusion in her expression said she had only seen the parting, not the confrontation.

Lydia shrugged.

“You and Lahey are suddenly friends?” She asked, though more joking than accusing, “Did you forget he’s a raging asshole?”

Allison offered a shrug of her own, but Lydia’s sharp eyes didn’t miss the hint of a blush. Well that was a problem.

“He’s can be. But he’s not a bad guy, altogether. And he’s going through some really rough things right now, Scott said.”

“So you and Scott are speaking again,” she teased, slipping into the care and Allison blushed again.

Lydia wasn’t sure why that calmed her a bit. This was comfortable, this was normal. Two friends talking about boys. No werewolves, no nightmares

~*~

She weaseled Derek’s address out of Stiles without much effort. It’s crumbling and industrial and Spartan. but with an upscale feel to it somehow. It’s very, very Derek.

She intended to knock, but the sliding door was already open a crack, so she let herself in. The ever-brooding Derek Hale probably wouldn’t have opened the door for her anyway. His be a better alpha program had extended to Jackson, but not to her.

The huge, open lower floor was empty, her voice echoing over the rough brick when she called Derek’s name. It was the only answer. She shrugged, drawn to the huge window that took up one wall of the loft. Derek didn’t seem like the type to leave his door open if he wasn’t intending on walking out it in the near future. He was probably lurking somewhere above and she could wait until he decided to be a grown up and come down.

It was almost peaceful looking out on the street from above, her favorite vantage point. She was so lost in it, she didn’t hear the foot steps behind her, until he closed the door. She was ready to turn with an eye roll and snappy comment about being kept waiting, when he spoke.

“Lydia. You’re looking well.”

Her spine stiffened, and her lungs seized, as if someone had just thrown her into a lake of frozen water. Goose pimples broke out across her skin and she snapped her eyes shut, forced herself to breath.

It wasn’t Derek’s voice. It was Peter’s.

 _It’s all in your head,_ she told herself , _he’s not really here._

Then his hand landed in the small of her back and she screamed.

Things happened then, though she wasn’t entirely sure what. Peter was there, solid and real, and her brain is gone, completely shut down. Competence flew out the window like a songbird free of a cage all she knew was panic and fear, her heart pounding so fiercely she was sure it was going to burst though her chest into the free ear, if her lungs didn’t crawl out of her throat first.

Then suddenly, Peter wasn’t there anymore and there is a half second where she wondered if she really had _imagined_ it. But her eyes were sending messages to her rebooting brain again and she realized that Peter _was_ still there but at a distance and someone was standing between them.

Someone tall and lean, with sandy curls and wool sweater.

Peter’s mouth curled up into that cruel grin and he stares Isaac down. The young wolf had his claws out.

“What are you doing here,” Isaac snarled and Peter rolled his eyes in that dramatic way that made other people forget he was a monster. Lydia on the other hand, could never forget.  She closed her eyes again, and clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms. In a minute she wake up, at home, in bed.

“I was looking for my nephew, but as per usual, all I seem to be able to come up with is some damaged teens. I am sensing a trend.”

Every word was like a nail, hammering and hammering into Lydia’s skull and she couldn’t fight the urge to press her hands over her ears, curl into herself. Isaac took a step back, not so much away from Peter as towards Lydia.

“Derek isn’t here. Come back later,” Isaac said, and there is no give in his voice.

Peter’s face was open, carefully cruel.

“Oh, I think I’ll stay for a while,” he leaned a bit to one side, grin splitting his handsome face, “Lydia and I have a lot of catching up to do. Don’t we Lydia?”

A sound came out of her then, a whimper, soft and broken. He knees buckled and she swayed under the terror and the weight of her memories. She didn’t want the hot tears that spilled down her cheeks, she didn’t want to lean into Isaac’s back, the nearest thing for her to balance herself on. But she did, her forehead pressed between his shoulder blades, pulling her body in, trying to hide behind his taller frame. She expected him to turn on her, to push her away. Instead, she felt a slender hand reach for her, pushing her more fully behind him, resting against her side. She sobbed then, fingers fisting in his sweater, trying her best to hide.

“Leave her alone,” Isaac snapped, and there was a dangerous edge to his voice.

She heard Peter’s snort of laughter.

“Always with the petty the petty threats? If I was your alpha I’d have taught you some manners.”

 “But you’re not my alpha,” Isaac growled back, “Derek is. This is his house, his territory. Now get. Out.”

Peter sighed, heavily, as if exasperated. But Lydia heard his footsteps receding.

“Tell Derek I stopped by. Oh and Lydia, I meant what I said, about catching up,” he calls and she heard the laughter in his voice and then she was down, her knees crumbling under her. She wasn’t here. Here was scary and she simply couldn’t handle it anymore.

It was the heat of a warm mug being pressed into her hands that brought her back. She jolted, almost loosing her grip, but cool wide hands covered hers in a second, steadied her before should spill any on her bare legs.

Isaac was kneeling on the carpet in front of her, watching her in a way that said he had some familiarity with this.

“You god it,” he asked her, catching her gaze. She looked away, and nodded quickly. Isaac stepped back, rose to is feet.

Lydia could feel the heat in her cheeks and the hot weight of shame in her chest. She had been so good lately, about holding herself together, even when taking her unconscious trips to crimes scenes. She had gotten better at hiding the fact that she wasn’t better. Just like she always did. She fixed her hair and put on her make up and pretended so well that most days she could almost forget shaky she felt. Of all the people to be there when she finally broke apart, it had to be Isaac. She wasn’t sure she could ever live that down.

But for some reason, all the contempt from the other day is gone. It had been replaced with something Lydia couldn’t quite place. Not pity, not fear. She had seen those looks enough in the last year to know what they looked like painted on other people’s faces. No, Isaac’s gaze was cool and distant, but at the same time, there was no judgment there.

            Lydia is a genius, so she chides herself lightly that it took her so long to recognize that look on Isaac’s face. It’s understanding. He was looking at her like that because he understood. He knew what it was like to fall apart, he knew the shame of having someone else see you loose your shit.

“Why did you do that?”

_Why did you try protect me?_

“I don’t like Peter.”

“Is that the only reason?”

He was quiet for a moment, pale eye flickering to the floor, and Lydia was sure she’d seen hurt in his eyes for a moment.  Then the cool distance returned and he shrugged.

“I know it’s like to scream even though you think no one is going to come to help you. I don’t think I have it in me to hear that and pretend that I don’t. I’ve been on the other side of the equation too many times for that.”

“I’m sorry,” she says softly, catching her reflection in the surface of her tea. Warped though it was, she knew she was a mess of tear stains and smudged mascara.

“Don’t be,” he replied, leaning against the far wall, hands tucked in his pockets, “Peter fucked you up. That’s not your fault and you don’t have to apologize for it. ”

 “Not just about Peter,” she says after a moment, finally meeting his eyes and he seems a little taken back.

“About everything,” she continued, “About never telling. About the way I treated you. I thought if I pretended I didn’t hear or see what your dad was doing, it would go away.

“I’m sorry for the way that I never told, even though I knew I should have. I thought that if I pretended I didn’t see it, didn’t hear it, then it would just go away. I thought if I didn’t make it my problem, if I just washed my hands of the whole thing, then I was safe, because then no one have a reason to think that maybe I wasn’t perfect. I’m sorry for the way I treated you, I’m sorry that isolating you made me feel better about the fact that my own world was a wreck. I thought I was doing what was best, for me, for Jackson, for my friends and my life. Turns out I was just as fucked either way, I should have at least been brave enough to make it worth it. And I’m sorry I expected you to be grateful for that.”

She looked at him, not sure what kind of reaction she expected, what one she even wanted.

His eyes were closed, his breath slow. Then he pushed away from the wall.

“I’m sorry too. For the other day. I shouldn’t have grabbed you, or shaken you. It was out of line.”

She nodded.

“And for last year.”

Lydia shrugged.

“Well in your defense you did think I was a murdering lizard monster.”

Isaac cracked a small smile.

“It would be a lie to say it was all about the lizard monster part. It was nice to be the one feared instead of the one afraid for once. A little too nice.”

“Oh.”

The silence hung between the two of the them, solid and heavy.

“Could you…not tell anyone about this,” she ventured after time, her face open and raw. She didn’t have the strength for masks right now.

Still she was surprised when Isaac nodded, no hesitation.

“You’re trauma belongs to you and no body else. No body has the right to use it against you.”

She heaved a relived sigh. They weren’t friends. They didn’t even like each other, but in this, she trusted him. Because she knew he knew what it was like, to have a raw, open wound just beneath your skin, one you were trying to hide, guard, protect. He wouldn’t give away her secret. And she wouldn’t give away his.

 


End file.
